


Death by a Nightmare’s Suffocation

by Rue_River_Styx



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Death, Good Writing, Gore, Macabre, Murder, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Poetic, Short Story, Suicide, Ways To Die, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rue_River_Styx/pseuds/Rue_River_Styx
Summary: I did not die from murder, suicide, drowning, fire, old age, a heart condition, sharp objects, electrocution, brain damage (hypothetically), cancer, or in an accident. But let’s not give away the entire ending.





	Death by a Nightmare’s Suffocation

I once wrote down a list of ways I could possibly die. On that list, I included murder, suicide, drowning, burning, and more simple deaths like old age, heart conditions, impaled by a sharp object, electrocution, brain damage, cancer, and accidents. I suppose I should specify; non-suspicious accidents. Car accidents. Bus crashes. Snow disasters. The type of every-day misfortunes to which I don’t believe would be incidents that I will ever die from.  
Unfortunately, I was right.  
I did not die from murder, suicide, drowning, fire, old age, a heart condition, sharp objects, electrocution, brain damage (hypothetically), cancer, or in an accident. But let’s not give away the entire ending.  
To start, the purpose of this list did not exist. It was a personal-experiment that I expected to add-on for years to come. Crossing out possibilities I considered or found out to be not a factor in my death. If I found anything extraordinary while documenting the chances and outcomes of death, I would have told someone. Maybe. Maybe not. I prefer to keep these little secrets to myself.  
The very first and immediate scenario to get crossed-off the list was suicide; that has never been an option or choice. That is a death very capable of being contained and controlled. Still, the list had many other deaths to pick from. “Up for grabs,” as some might say. Although anyone (myself included) can avoid driving, flying, or riding, accidents happen on the one chance you take. The second you allow yourself to not care is when Death strikes. He himself attends to this business. People “down there” enjoy new company. In my world, I picture them waiting, watching, and constantly checking you to see when it is you will let go. Accidents are no accidents at all. Have you not ever felt the unstable emotions of doing something you’re not supposed to do?  
Now that I covered suicide and accidents, we move on to murder. I did not cross this word out. Murder? Well, enemies are unseen; the target is on your back and you don’t see it. This is because you never bother to look. Re-think your philosophy of “haters gunna hate.” Haters do hate; but the type of hate you imagine is not the kind on a murderer’s mind. Perhaps a psychopath you’ve never met has clung to you. I know that I have no enemies. The ones surrounding me are too silly, too vacant-minded to notice how sly and creative my manipulation skills are. They remain completely unaware of my knowing of all their detailed, yet pathetic and useless lives. Details they explain to their best friend in a rather loud voice. Silly souls. Will they ever learn that the events kept as secrets are not worth hiding? Doubtful, very doubtful. Nor will they understand that crucial secrets are not to be spoken out loud. Kept in a brain is best.  
Yes. Murder is a possibility. Personal murder, at the moment, was not. Random, burglary murder is always open. But, I will point out again, that my death did not come with murder. Not with cancer, not with fire, not with electricity, water, knives, or life support. Still, my death stood suspicious enough to receive an article in the paper. Interestingly enough, they left-out the nature of the scene. In simple terms, the way I died. Only a picture of me, half-smiling/half-grinning mischievously. You probably wouldn’t notice the look in my eyes.  
  
Death starts a good five-minutes before it takes place. Mine, unique as ever, started fifteen-hours before. If we’re being specific, essentially, it started a whole night before. I will admit that the second I awoke from that cursed nightmare, I felt it. And I chose to ignore within a second. In my defense, the aftermaths of nightmares are meant to be brushed off. Forgetting gets rid of fear that lingers, wanting to strike fear deep enough into your heart where it freezes your muscles and sends all awareness into a coma. Like Satan’s followers, their sole purpose holds nothing of sanctity.  
This nightmare, which, even in death, I still cannot recall, started brutally, just as the way it ended. When one first thinks of the word “brutal,” they think of blood. I use it to describe something horrible that does not necessarily focus on pools of blood. The details and actual plot never did come back to me. I only remember having a panicky feeling that I was late for an event that determined whether I lived or not. Ironically, it did determine whether I lived or not. When one wakes up from a nightmare, they feel unsafe. Location is difficult to pin-point. Eventually it comes back to you. Hopefully. Because if that nightmare doesn’t refresh itself, you are in danger of unconsciously carrying it out.  
  
After jerking myself awake from this forgotten nightmare, I fell back asleep in a terrified and sweaty state, which could have ended worse than it did. Rarely, the nights when I long to continue a dream after I am awoken for a second or two, I focus and remember the details. Since, however, this nightmare contained the most heinous advantages and purposes, they were swept away from my hazy mind. Am I glad for this? Maybe so. But if we mention the fact that I am already dead, maybe not. In these moments, I, and possibly a few other people in this world, have trained our minds to forget unspeakable scenes. To push them out of our already-spoiled sight. To carry this out proves, if you would like to try and master it, harder than it looks. Only special individuals are pros. I used to be. But this one time…my skills were nowhere close to appropriate for the situation. And even in sleep, I should have known that.  
Now, for the fifteen-hours that followed, I felt the nightmare still lingering. Unaware that the hovering feeling was in fact that nightmare, I jumped out of bed and desperately tried to get ready for school. Assuming that I had woken up late and would be late for my first-period class, this desperation made sense. However, this accusation is false. The panic and heavy-breathing that derived immediately after jumping out of bed came from, of course, the nightmare, and whatever rotten deeds were held within it. Burning hot I felt also. That feeling had something to do with the horrors my sleeping-self had witnessed and the heater that I had left on high all night long. None of the less, I couldn’t breathe. Normally I would splash hot water on my face right after I emerged from the sauna that was my room; this particular morning, obviously, refused to allow that. In a crazed-state, I nearly ripped the handle of the faucet off. It felt freezing cold, but it only lasted on my cheeks for a second or two. Those seconds weren’t bliss, as you might have presumed. I wanted more. I needed more cold water or else I believed I would die as a dried-up raisin. Skin is not meant to be bone-dry, although most of the time it is. This was definitely the case for me. Not only that, but I found my throat struggling for moisture also.  
How is one to save all of these suffering souls at once?  
By this time I really was about to be late for school. Looking back now, I can see how I may have misread the time. Then again, maybe I didn’t. It’s too far-gone to check now. I don’t think it matters anyway, because the next hour would never be recalled either. As I sat in my first period class, silently gasping and sweating, I kept telling myself that it was all one big hallucination. Even you know that it wasn’t. Nightmares follow you. Especially in death. No one knows the plot. No one knows the characters. As they lie dying or standing in Hell, the aura is all around your body. And you can’t focus enough to wonder why or how or who or what. Perhaps that’s a good thing. You’ve already died a horrible death. No one wants one more thing to be afraid of.  
Class drug on. So did my breathing. It became heavier and thicker. Harder to exhale, even harder to inhale. And with this struggle, I overcame nothing. The air I took in was useless. Warm. Increasing with heat. This feeling seems to make the wind surrounding your body surge up to unbearable levels. While my classmates fooled around and told inappropriate jokes, I started to give myself a pep-talk. “For what?” You ask. Well, when one has the expectation of dying, your mind does numerous things to convince itself to forget about the unfavorable perception. Giving a pep-talk is a simple option, and may be the only one, now that I think about it.  
If there is a second argument, I have not yet found it.  
  
Not with anger, but more of fear, my blood began to boil. Could a person survive from such horror and temperatures? I knew not. It took a couple years of documenting psychopaths from books and movies to control my emotions. But the only people you can’t hide them from is God and the devil. Picture that; the entire day I was near death. Mental death more so than physical. But they both weigh each other out. Sweating, but not actually sweating. Thinking, but thinking as a hallucination. Focus does not exist in a trance like this one. As I told myself to calm down, my voice sounded more like third-person words. Throughout school, I learned not a single thing. Was it because my heart neared its end? You tell me.  
Well. I finally managed to get home without dropping dead on the street and having my body ripped apart by un-socialized dogs. Hours went by in the style of having the flu, or reading a book when it’s midnight. Nothing is clear. You barely remember any of the details. Those, along with the sensation that I was falling into a black pit, were the ones that I died seeing. I slumped down in the couch, taking my “Ways to Die” list. Suffocation, I could make out, was nowhere to found. How could I have forgotten, how foolish am I to forget something of that manner. Completely obvious, yet I missed it. They saw, and they took the opportunity to strike. Nightmares. That’s how they get in at first. Secondly is through your mind. Mental attacks. I battled them better than anyone because I watched. I waited. I wanted someone to test me and my will.  
And this time, I was tricked through my own drowsiness.  
  
I suffocated on the couch that night. My chest had become so heavy with desperation for air that it panicked and gave way. Even my nose suddenly became plugged. This wasn’t the work of science; only the devil and his helpers. They did their job on me. Now I am added to their collection. I roam with them, against my own will, as the heaving, wheezing, and defeated ghost girl. What horrible adjectives to be known by. No one recognizes my face down here; after the ghastly discovery of my blue-skinned body, the mortician had to give his absolute best to make me appropriate for the funeral. Still, I was far from beautiful that day. Far from peace as well. I did not watch anyone cry; my new “friends” took me away, as the dead cause the living great pain. I suspected they would keep me here forever for that purpose alone, but I was told there were other duties to attend to.  
But before I let myself follow their lead, I stopped by my old home, where the list, squished into the couch’s cushion, still sat. I took a pen with my blood-less hand, and wrote in at the very end  
  
**Suffocation**

**Author's Note:**

> An odd short story I wrote in 11th grade...that i only have a vague memory of writing...i’m sorry to whoever had to read this and reluctantly gave me that award😂


End file.
